


A Time of Peace

by rmc28



Category: Cadfael Chronicles - Ellis Peters
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rmc28/pseuds/rmc28
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Anarchy of Maud and Stephen's long civil war is over.  A new King is crowned.  And Hugh Beringar can finally invite his old friend Olivier de Bretagne for a visit to Shrewsbury, with his wife and child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Time of Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [huntingosprey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/huntingosprey/gifts).



"Send me word when my grandson is born," said Cadfael in farewell to Olivier.

Olivier wrote to Hugh: a letter of thanks for his help to Cadfael and Yves, a reminder of their previous efforts together, and news both large and small from Gloucester. Hugh took the news to Abbot Radulfus, and the postscript to Cadfael in his little hut in the herbarium.

His friend was still settling gratefully back into the monastic routine, the grace of being re-accepted into brotherhood after his unauthorised absence. He refused to stop working when Hugh arrived, but tolerated the door being shut firmly against both cold and listening ears. Then Hugh read Olivier's postscript aloud.

"Ermina was safely delivered of a girl but a few days since I parted from Cadfael. We have named her Philipa Hilaria."

"Well," said Cadfael, lost for further words. "Well. Philipa Hilaria." Cadfael found himself grinning foolishly, but he met a similar grin in Hugh's face.

"Congratulations on your grandchild, my friend," said Hugh quietly. They did not speak of her again aloud.

*****

Over the next years there came news now and then: Olivier's departure for the Crusades with Philip, and his return some years later without him. Yves coming into his inheritance, and marrying. Finally, after the crowning of Henry II, it was safe for Hugh to invite Olivier and his family to Shrewsbury, and the hospitality of his home.

They came when the spring thaw of 1155 made it reasonable to travel from the d'Angers land in the south west of England. Hugh complained laughingly to Cadfael of the restrained chaos of preparation in his house under Aline's careful but thorough direction. But he went with his son Giles to ask very properly of Abbot Robert whether Giles's godfather could be released to them for an extra evening that month.

Secure in the abbacy he had desired for so long, Robert could afford to be gracious. Cadfael was far from his favourite monk, but he would not interfere with the duties of godparent to godchild, and he could not complain that Cadfael took excessive advantage of the relationship. Moreover, Giles had inherited his mother's sweetness and his father's quiet determination, and knew how to be correctly respectful to his elders. If Robert was charmed and flattered into generosity by the boy's manners, he was also hard-headedly aware of the advantage to the abbey of being on good terms with the secular authority.

And so, in the afternoon of the guests' arrival, Giles came to the abbey to escort his godfather back up to Hugh's home in the town, as had become routine since he turned twelve. He rounded the hedge into the herb garden to find Brother Oswin carefully weeding the beds, the gusts of the day's wind much reduced by the sheltering walls. 

Oswin greeted him with a smile: "You'll find Cadfael in the infirmary again. Three of the brothers have come down with a nasty spring cold and he has brewed them a particular syrup for the cough. No doubt Jerome has persuaded him to stay and recite the contents for his records."

"And I am sure the warm sun where Jerome's bed is aided the persuasion," grinned Giles.

"Better than here, certainly," agreed Oswin.

Sure enough, Giles entered the infirmary quietly to see Cadfael seated by the usual bed, carefully situated to make the most of the sun streaming in through the windows to the south. Brother Jerome sat propped up on pillows, a thin figure under a few blankets. On his lap lay a tray with a few precious sheets of vellum - old and scraped for reuse, but precious still - on which he scratched away to Cadfael's patient dictation.

Once Jerome had been the abbot's clerk, but a long winter pneumonia had robbed him of the stamina to do that work. The abbot chose a new clerk but was not lacking in sympathy toward the old. Jerome had still felt a need to be usefully occupied and Robert had authorised the use of old sheets of vellum to record Brother Cadfael's many preparations. One by one, they were each written down in Jerome's neat and careful hand, against Cadfael's eventual departure from this world.

Giles shrank inside from that thought, but could not deny that his beloved godfather was slower and more easily tired than he had been five years ago. This quiet indoor task suited both old brothers better than any might have guessed a decade previously.

Jerome smiled slightly maliciously as Giles approached. "Brother, I believe you are being stolen away from us again. Am I right, young Beringar? Have the long-awaited guests arrived?" For the news of the sheriff's guests, from what people were slowly forgetting to call _the Empress's side_ had become common knowledge in both town and abbey. Jerome was no less interested in such tidbits than he had been before his confinement to the infirmary.

Giles flushed slightly but made polite agreement. Cadfael said unhurriedly "Well Jerome, we will finish this tisane tomorrow," before heaving himself to his feet and calmly following Giles from the room, and onward out of the abbey itself. He did not appear to be hurrying, and yet Giles felt himself having to stretch his legs to keep up.

"Tell me Giles dear, have you seen them? What did you make of them?" he asked as they walked along the Foregate together. Giles allowed his abbey manners to subside and his enthusiasm show.

"Yes, Cadfael, I have. They have very good horses, even the little girl! She has done well to ride this long way with her parents. Olivier de Bretagne is so strong and dark and had a sword the like I have never seen. It must be from the Holy Land. Do you think he will tell us of the Crusades? I greeted them all properly and then my mother bid them inside and my father sent me to fetch you."

"I am sure he will have a few tales lad, and we all have enough stories to exchange. You will be bored of old soldier tales by the time this evening is over," said Cadfael with a teasing grin. Giles was soldier-mad and hung on any of the older men-at-arms with tales to tell of battles, especially the one or two veterans of the latest Crusade. Giles grinned back, easy in his godfather's gentle teasing. His discussion of the party's horses took them to the door of Hugh's home.

Cadfael was only paying half a mind to Giles's talk, enough to feign suitably interested attention, while the rest of him dwelt in pleased anticipation. It had been over nine years since he saw Olivier, parted from outside Gloucester with all set right between them, and six more since he last saw Ermina, slipping away with Olivier and Yves into the snowy winter night at Bromfield. But most of all he wanted to meet the "little girl", and only the long habit of secrecy stopped him breaking into a run. Well, perhaps his advancing years had something to do with his keeping to a walk, but that was an admission Cadfael would make only inside his head.

At last the door opened, and the warmth within was warmed further by Aline's smile, Hugh's grin and beyond them ... Olivier's joyful presence, his head rising to look at him with that wild rush of joy that had first revealed him to Cadfael as Mariam's son. Cadfael stopped a moment and met his son's eyes with equal joy, and then continued in at Aline's urging. The nine years had added some lines and a deeper olive to that beloved face. Beside Olivier was Ermina, whose beauty had matured and deepened with the years, though she seemed a touch pale and worn, next to Olivier's vitality. And beside Ermina was Philipa. 

Nine years old, dressed demurely and hardly showing signs of exhaustion from her long ride, she looked up at him shyly. And Cadfael stopped again, and marvelled, because her dark hair framed a face the image of his little sister from long ago Trefriw. He had been prepared to see Ermina or Mariam again in Philipa, but instead he saw Glenys. He had not thought of his sister in years and yet here her image stood before him. If ever he had doubted Olivier was his, no more. One more unexpected gift.

Hugh's voice shook him from long-ago memory and he moved through the motions of greeting and exclaiming and welcoming his old friends to Shrewsbury. Aline sat them down to a hearty meal, almost a celebratory feast, and the conversation drew Cadfael out of his abstraction. He joined in the telling of old adventures, and enjoyed the rapt expressions on the faces of the children. Philipa's intent face was half-familiar, half-strange as she listened closely. Cadfael tried to watch her without being obvious about it, drinking in the sight of her. And Olivier, and Ermina of course. But mostly this marvel of a grandchild with his sister's face.

In the middle of Hugh’s telling of how he first met Olivier, Cadfael caught a disbelieving look on Giles’s face, as Hugh described Cadfael tracking the villian Alain le Gaucher to his lair on Titterstone Clee, spying through the trees, and leading Hugh’s army back again.

“Oh lad, that was more than 14 years ago, just after you were born. I was a bit more spry then. And Yves, Ermina’s brave brother that was held hostage there, he was younger then than you are now.” That led to more exclamation, and then Hugh’s tale gave way to stories from Olivier of the Holy Land where he had grown up. Cadfael noticed, if Giles did not, that Olivier glossed over his more recent years on Crusade, in favour of another tale after his return to the Angevin lands of his lord and uncle-by-marriage, Laurence d’Angers.

A name in that story caught Hugh’s attention. “Torold Blund! Do you tell me you know that young man? Did he and Godith marry?” Aline and Cadfael also startled at the repetition. Olivier looked at them all quizzically and said “Why yes, his wife is Godith. But how do _you_ know them?”

“Ah,” said Hugh expansively. “All three of us conspired, more or less deliberately, to aid their escape to join FitzAlan after the fall of Shrewsbury castle. And Cadfael most of all; Ermina and Yves were hardly the first young things to catch our friend’s sympathy and have him strive on their behalf. I think we could come near to filling the abbey with the marriages and fine children resulting from Cadfael’s willing aid to young people in trouble .. though some of them would need mighty persuasion to return here.” Olivier matched Hugh’s indulgent grin, Giles looked surprised, while Aline and Ermina had near-identical expressions of complacent pride. And Philipa looked at him seriously, neither surprised nor complacent, but as one filing away a new piece of information.

“Anyway, Godith had once been affianced to me, or at least so our parents had planned it …” and Hugh was off on his tale. Cadfael listened, full and flushed with paternal delight and flattery. But not too distracted to notice that behind Ermina’s smile she grew steadily paler and more tired, though she said nothing that would draw attention to it. The fierce and proud girl he had known when Giles was a baby would scorn to interrupt such a gathering for mere tiredness. He noticed that Philipa was watching her mother discreetly and growing more grave. Their eyes met briefly and Cadfael broke into the end of the latest tale before another could start.

“All good things must eventually come to an end, and I must be abed soon or I will not wake for Matins,” he said cheerfully. The party broke up in a flurry of protests, farewells and promises to meet again after the morning’s services. Cadfael noticed Philipa watching Ermina’s discreet withdrawal and helped keep the conversation on himself. Olivier insisted on walking him back to the abbey this time.

Where the lit house had been full of laughter and talk, silence fell comfortably over them both in the cool spring dark. It was enough for Cadfael to walk alongside his son, moving together with common purpose, as they had in times past. Only as they turned into the Foregate did Cadfael speak: "It is very very good to see you again, Olivier." He did not trust himself to say more.

"And you also," responded Olivier. "And here we are, and here I leave you but we will see you tomorrow." They clasped hands, outside the abbey gate, and then Olivier watched Cadfael ender under the watchful eye of Brother Porter. He turned and strode away, back up to the town, his hosts and his family.

*****

Philipa saw the old monk sitting to one side of the courtyard as they came out of the morning service. He had been kind last night; she knew he had seen Mama’s tiredness and brought the evening to an end. Mama had been ill again this morning, though Philipa had pretended to be asleep. Papa really had been asleep, she thought, as had their hosts. Maybe the boy, Giles, had heard. She wasn’t sure and she didn’t know him well enough to ask.

The old monk came walking across to meet them, a rolling walk like those of Papa’s friends from the warships. But this man had sailed too, when he was young long ago before even Papa had been born, and before he had settled down here to be a monk. And help young people, by the sound of last night’s tales. She wished he could help her.

She watched his eyes take in the group of them: Papa and the Sheriff still talking to the local worthies who had gathered around as they left the church; the Sheriff’s wife and son looking on; Mama keeping back and uncharacteristically out of the conversation; and herself, quiet by Mama’s side. She saw his gaze return to Mama’s face for a few more moments, and then meet her own. And then somehow he had joined them, and quite unobtrusively had drawn Mama a step or two further away. They spoke so quietly Philipa could not hear over the jovial gossip and introductions taking place to her other side.

Then he spoke more normally, though still not loud enough to interrupt the loud townsfolk to her side, and said “Come then Ermina, and see my herb garden and the remedies I make there”. He shot a quick glance past Mama to Philipa and Mama turned, following it. She looked briefly annoyed as Philipa moved forward to join them, but then cleared her expression and said “Come along then Philipa, if you wish”. 

They moved off quietly, but Philipa saw the swift glance from Papa following Mama, and from the Sheriff following them all. She felt the Sheriff missed as little as Papa, though Mama seemed to be fooling both of them so far. But here at least, their departure was noted and they would be followed soon enough.

They walked through the abbey gardens and round a hedge into a sheltered garden with a hut in the corner. The old monk swung the door wide and both Philipa and Mama breathed in the heavy scents in surprise. Then Mama’s throat tightened and her jaw took on that clenched look that Philipa was all too familiar with these last few weeks. She looked again to the old monk - to Brother Cadfael - and felt sure he had seen it too. He moved unhurriedly around the hut, warming the banked brazier back into life and setting a pot of water to boil over it, gesturing his visitors to the bench by the door, and fetching down a variety of dried herbs from the shelves to add to the heating water.

Sitting on the bench by Mama, watching Brother Cadfael’s quiet industry, breathing in the marvellously-scented air of the hut, Philipa drew up her courage and asked “Are you brewing something to help my mother’s sickness?” Her voice wavered just a fraction as she finally named her worry out loud. Beside her, Mama huffed out a surprised, voiceless laugh. 

“I thought you had become uncommonly attentive of late, dear girl,” she said, and her hand came out to wrap around Philipa’s. Brother Cadfael looked at them both kindly.

“That depends child, if I am right in what ails your mother, and if these herbs can help. I need to ask a few questions first though.” He looked at Mama, who shook her head and said, “If she has guessed this much, let her stay.”

“How long have you been vomiting then?” asked Brother Cadfael.

“A week or two,” answered Mama, in that tone of voice she used to pretend nothing was wrong. Philipa thought Brother Cadfael didn't believe the tone.

“ _Four_ weeks,” said Philipa. “Worse when she is cold or has been busier than usual. But she has been hiding it, even from Papa.” She dropped her head then, but Mama squeezed her hand and smiled down at her, while Brother Cadfael also looked approving.

“At least one of you can observe accurately," he said. "Spring is fairly on her way in so cold may soon be less of a problem. Any other symptoms?” She shook her head and saw out of the corner of her eye Mama do the same.

He hesitated before asking the next question and Mama said "I meant it, let her stay. She will need to know at some point." 

He nodded and said “Well then, how late are you with your courses?”

Philipa was astonished to see Mama blush faintly as she replied. “Cadfael, I do not know! I have never been able to predict them, they come rarely and I never know when or for how long they will be. But no, I have not had them for several months now.”

While Mama spoke, Brother Cadfael was pouring a portion of his brew into a cup, which he handed to her. She took her hand away from Philipa’s to hold it, and breathed in the smell before sipping at it. Philipa thought she saw the tension in Mama's body release and soften before she spoke again.

“I cannot be sure yet, Cadfael, but the last time I felt like this was nearly ten years ago.” She turned and smiled reminiscently at Philipa, who felt a joyous rush of revelation. “Don’t tell Olivier.”

“I would not dare steal your glory, girl dear,” replied Brother Cadfael, very complacently indeed. Philipa looked back and forth between the two of them. Almost at a whisper she said “Are you going to have a _baby_ Mama? Is _that_ why you have been ill?”

“We think so, Philipa. But you’ve done so well keeping the secret so far, let’s keep it a little longer until I am sure. “ Mama’s hand closed around hers again and squeezed gently, a little triumph entering her smile. Brother Cadfael poured the remaining tea into two more cups and gave one to Philipa. “A perfectly ordinary brew, safe for anyone, but especially good for nausea. How are your letters, can you read well yet?” He paused for her vigorous nod. “Then we will go to Brother Jerome after this and he can make two copies of the directions for its preparation. You can take one away, and I can spare you some of the ingredients from my stores, though all are fairly easy to find."

They sat together for a while in contemplative silence, drinking the tea. A step on the path outside was their only warning before Papa leaned in through the doorway, smiling impartially and happily at all three of them.

“Papa!” said Philipa. excitedly, and registered the sudden tension in Mama and Brother Cadfael with irritation. Didn't she just agree to keep the secret? Hadn't she already kept it for four weeks? “May I learn herblore and how to brew medicines, just like Brother Cadfael?” Papa smiled more delightedly than she had expected, a smile echoed by Brother Cadfael in its depth of pleasure and by Mama in its pride.

“Of course you may, my dear child, “ said Olivier. “If Cadfael is willing to teach you, of course you may learn.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to have Cadfael describe the recipe for the tea, but I ran out of time to research what herbs would be widely available in 1155. Mint, ginger and lemongrass made up the modern equivalent but I don't know if they would be anachronistic.


End file.
